My Friends They Are So Beautiful
by poetzproblem
Summary: Everyone in that apartment is probably going to bring up every stupid thing Santana has ever said or done to embarrass her in front of Teresa, and the worst part is that she can't do a thing to stop them because she'd do (and has done) the same exact thing if the tables were turned. Part 29 of the Don't Blink series.
**Author's Note:** A Santana-centric ensemble piece in the Don't Blink series set after Don't Want To Wake Up Lonely and the ficlets _It's All How You Use It_ and _If I'm A Fool For Love._

As always, thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being an awesome beta.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Glee_ or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

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 **My Friends They Are So Beautiful**

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 _I need love, 'cause only love is true.  
I need every waking hour with you.  
And my friends, 'cause they're so beautiful.  
Yeah, my friends, they are so beautiful.  
They're my friends.  
~Friends, Band of Skulls_

* * *

Santana is whipped—still not in the fun way thanks to her endlessly exhausting schedule at the hospital, though there _has_ been an undeniable improvement in the _fun_ department since the woman currently standing next to her had come (back) into her life. She's only been dating Teresa for a little more than two months, but she honestly hasn't been this happy in years. Teresa is sexy, smart, talented, and more than capable of handling Santana—in and out of the bedroom. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, it's the out of the bedroom interactions that have Santana feeling the most content.

Oh, that's not to say Teresa is anything less than a fucking sex goddess. She might have made Santana wait endless weeks (until she'd proven she was serious about the whole having a real relationship thing) before taking her to bed, but once they finally did get naked, they'd set the freaking sheets on fire. Sex with Teresa is more than worth the wait, but honestly, it's the other stuff that has Santana thinking she wants to keep this woman around for as long as she can, because Teresa Rinaldi _is_ that gorgeous woman with the great body and even better sense of humor who'll cook Santana dinner and clean her apartment and cuddle with her after mind-blowing sex. She's also the woman who'll sit quietly and listen when Santana needs to vent about her shitty day at the hospital, who'll just hold her when she isn't able to talk at all, and who manages to not take Santana's snark and barbs and self-protective bitchiness to heart—well, most of the time. Hell, Teresa can dish it right back, and Santana usually doesn't mind it all that much.

But there's still no way Santana is ever admitting that Rachel Berry (or Fabray, whatever) had anything to do with her current state of happiness. Just because Rachel had happened to be in the right place at the right time and played a lucky hunch doesn't prove she actually has any matchmaking skills. After all, _Santana_ had met Teresa _first_.

"You know," Santana drawls to her girlfriend, slipping an arm around her shapely waist and leaning closer, "it's not too late to head back to my place and enjoy our day off in private," she suggests with a wolfish grin.

Teresa shoots her an incredulous look. "We're literally right in front of their apartment," she points out wryly, her hand already half-raised to knock on the door.

Santana shrugs. "They don't know that."

Teresa rolls her eyes, dropping her hand back to her side for the moment. "Don't even pretend that you don't want to go in there," she accuses playfully. "They're your best friends. You even met them at the airport the day they got back from Paris because you missed them so much."

Santana feels her face heat a little because—yeah—she _had_ missed them. If it wasn't for Teresa, those three weeks would have seemed unbearably long (and not only because she'd been fighting with their demon cat the whole time), but she'll be damned if she outright admits it.

"Please," she scoffs, letting her arm fall away from Teresa's waist. "I only did that because Queen Lucy the Vain demanded that I come help them wrangle the twenty suitcases they over-packed since they're both narcissistic bitches who can't travel light."

"Yeah, that's the only reason," Teresa teases, shaking her head. "Now suck it up, Lopez. We're going in there. I want to hear all about their honeymoon, not to mention finally meet the rest of your friends," she adds, lifting her hand once again to rap on the door.

Santana drags in a breath, bracing herself for the inevitable. It's not that she doesn't want to introduce Teresa to the other two couples that are supposed to be here today, but she can guess what they'll probably be thinking—that this is just another temporary fling and that Teresa is just another bed-warmer that they won't ever see again. Santana can't blame them for thinking it. Hell, she gets the feeling that even Quinn is half-waiting for her to screw this up. Only Rachel seems convinced that it's going to last forever, but that's because she suddenly thinks she has some magical ability to arrange permanent love matches for all her nearest and dearest. She's a hopeless fucking romantic, but whatever.

Everyone in that apartment is probably going to bring up every stupid thing Santana has ever said or done to embarrass her in front of Teresa, and the worst part is that she can't do a damn thing to stop them because she'd do (and has done) the same exact thing if the tables were turned.

Not that Santana is worried or anything. If Teresa can deal with Rachel and Quinn at their crazy, sappy, overbearing worst, Santana figures she should be able to handle Kurt and Harry and Josie and Sarah and whatever humiliating anecdotes they decide to share.

"Just remember when we're six hours into the nonstop guided tour through Berry's Gay-Paree that I tried to save you," Santana warns, covering up her own vulnerability with her safety blanket of scorn and sarcasm.

"Do you think I can convince her to make it into a musical?" Teresa asks with a mischievous grin. Santana knows she's not completely joking—Teresa would absolutely ask Rachel to do that, and Rachel abso-fucking-lutely would attempt it.

"Har-dee freaking… hey, Q," Santana quickly cuts herself off when the door opens to reveal a happy, smiling Quinn.

"Hi, guys," she welcomes, stepping back and gesturing for them to enter.

"We brought food," Santana announces, holding up the brown shopping bag that she'd lugged halfway across Manhattan and shoving it into Quinn's hands as she marches through the door.

Quinn accepts the bag with a surprised expression on her face. " _You_ did?" she asks skeptically.

Santana waves off the question, seeing Rachel headed their way with a matching smile, and _damn_ —it looks like the gang's all here already, sitting around the living room and craning their necks to get a better look at Teresa.

"I know you said you had dinner covered, but we didn't want to come completely empty-handed," Teresa explains as she follows Santana inside.

" _We_?" Quinn echoes with amusement as she pushes the door closed. "I think you mean _you_. Santana only ever _removes_ food from my kitchen. She never replaces it."

"Funny," Santana mutters, crossing her arms defensively. Of course Quinn would get the honor of grand-marshaling the embarrass-Santana-in-front-of-her-girlfriend parade.

And there's the drum major. "Only because it's true," Rachel adds, coming to a stop beside Santana.

"It's just Mexican bruschetta," Teresa tells them with a humble shrug, prompting Quinn to finally glance into the bag she's holding. "I had a recipe I wanted to try out."

"She only let me sample one measly, little piece," Santana complains, but she can feel the proud little smirk tugging at her lips at how good her girl is in the kitchen—cooking, too.

Quinn pulls out the container filled with little slices of hard bread topped with a colorful collage of diced tomatoes, cilantro, onions, olive oil, garlic, and Monterey Jack cheese. It's the perfect marriage of Mexican and Italian food sensibilities, and Santana's mouth is watering just looking at them.

Rachel's expression is gleeful as she eyes the container. "Oh, you can definitely stay forever," she promises, moving past Santana to wrap a welcoming arm around Teresa's shoulders. "Come on in. Let me introduce you to everyone," she urges, guiding Teresa into the living room.

Quinn steps up beside Santana, poking a finger into her shoulder with her free hand. "I think my wife likes your girlfriend better than you," she muses softly, smirking.

Santana frowns at her. "Yeah, well…as long as your wife likes _you_ better than my girlfriend, I guess we won't have a problem," she concedes.

"Oh, don't worry. Rachel definitely likes me best," Quinn boasts smugly before heading to the kitchen with the bruschetta.

Meanwhile, Rachel has stopped Teresa in the center of the living room for formal introductions. "Everyone, this is Teresa Rinaldi. She's dating Santana," she announces with a wide smile, putting a little too much stress on Santana's name as if dating her is a feat worthy of applause. Santana kind of wants to smack her. "Teresa, meet my very dear friend, Kurt Hummel, and his boyfriend, Harry Jordan." Rachel sweeps a hand toward the two men in turn—Kurt perched on the wingback chair with a glass of wine in his hand while Harry lounges on the matching Ottoman, nursing one of Santana's Coronas (fuck him!)—before gesturing to Josie and Sarah who are cuddled close together on the sofa. "And these are our friends, Josie Deveraux, and her fiancée, Sarah Cartwright."

"It's nice to meet you all," Teresa offers politely.

"Oh, the pleasure is all ours," Kurt coos a little too enthusiastically, leaning forward as he gives Teresa a blatant once over. "We've heard so very much about you."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what," Teresa counters dryly, glancing at Santana with an amused smile.

Santana holds up her hands innocently. "Hey, don't look at me. I can't help it if the Faborings have nothing better to entertain themselves with now that the honeymoon's over."

"The honeymoon is most certainly _not_ over," Rachel argues, frowning. "Well, in the metaphorical sense anyway."

"Don't worry, Teresa," Josie chimes in with a friendly smile. "I don't know what Kurt and Harry might have heard already, but Sarah and I only got the brief rundown of how you and Santana met…both times," she adds, grinning with unabashed delight at whatever story Rachel had told them about her meddling. "And that you're responsible for that painting," Josie continues, pointing up at the wall behind her, "which I love, by the way."

Teresa practically preens at the compliment—hey, Santana's lady has got her own very healthy ego. "Thank you. I have more where that came from," she says jokingly—but not really. Teresa is pretty serious about trying to sell her work.

"I'd love to see them sometime," Josie responds earnestly.

"There are usually a few on display at the Agora Gallery in Chelsea. Unfortunately, I don't have any showings scheduled in the immediate future," Teresa explains regretfully, "but I'd be happy to let you take a look at my portfolio anytime you want."

"She really is very talented," Rachel states with a wide smile before she gestures to the empty half of the sofa. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Teresa," she urges. "I'm sure everyone is eager to get to know you better. Can I get you a glass of wine? Kurt and Harry were nice enough to bring cabernet and merlot, and we also have zinfandel and chardonnay," she recites.

"Lushes," Santana mutters, watching Teresa settle onto the sofa right next to Michigan.

"Or if you prefer, we have Corona," Rachel offers as an afterthought.

"I'll have that," Teresa decides—a woman after Santana's own heart. She doesn't mind sharing her beer stash with her girlfriend. Harry better switch to the wine though.

"One Corona, coming right up," Rachel promises with a nod.

"Two," Santana barks out, scowling. "Thanks for asking, Berry."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "As if I have to," she grumbles, turning for the kitchen where Quinn seems to have gotten lost fiddling with her dishes and pans.

Santana flops down beside her girlfriend and makes herself comfortable, slipping an arm behind Teresa's shoulders—not that anyone politely invited her to sit. Bitches! She's all too aware of the four sets of eyes and amused grins aimed at her, but she's not about to let it fluster her. She's had her hands buried inside of people's guts almost daily—saving lives. If that doesn't rattle her nerves, this sure as hell isn't going to.

"Hey, where's your demon cat?" she calls out to Rachel, having just noticed the absence of the hissy, little, fuzz-covered face.

Rachel pauses outside of the kitchen, shaking her head in exasperation. "Oliver is in the bedroom. Quinn didn't trust him with the lasagna while there are so many people in the apartment."

"We'll let him out after dinner," Quinn's voice assures everyone.

"Yay," Santana recites in monotone.

Teresa's finger pokes into her thigh. "I happen to _like_ Ollie," she murmurs with an impish grin, and Santana rolls her eyes. Of course Teresa had taken a liking to the little devil and, of course, the damn cat is all purrs and affectionate chirping with Teresa.

And speaking of cats—

Santana's gaze moves past her sexy girlfriend to the couple on the other end of the sofa. "So…what's new, pussycat?" she asks Josie out of habit, attempting to divert everyone's attention away from her and Teresa now that their hostesses are both busy doing whatever the hell they're doing in the kitchen. (It better not be something nasty that close to the food.)

Josie sighs and shakes her head while Sarah attempts to glare at her—like that fazes Santana at all.

"Pussycat?" Teresa repeats with—well, Santana wouldn't quite call it amusement. Teresa has got that look on her face that she used to wear behind the bar whenever Santana would try out a new pickup line on her—the one that's part amusement, part annoyance, and all _nice try but it's never happening_.

"Yeah…you know," Santana explains lamely, gesturing to her own hair, "redhead named…"

"Josie. Yeah, I get it," Teresa cuts her off before glancing over at Josie. "Does she do that a lot?"

Josie laughs, nodding. "Pretty much every time."

Teresa shakes her head, turning back to Santana and patting her thigh consolingly. "Cute joke, tiger, but I think it's time to retire it."

"Yeah, whatever," Santana mumbles, feeling her cheeks heat at the chorus of snickers that greet her easy surrender, but they wouldn't be laughing if they knew the _other things_ that Teresa can make happen with that tongue of hers.

"Oh, I like you," Josie decides with a smile. "I agree with Rachel. You can stay."

Santana can't even be all that annoyed by the teasing because Teresa's pleased little grin right now is just too adorable. It makes her feel kind of warm and fuzzy—and lord knows, she doesn't do warm and fuzzy as a rule.

"I knew you'd like her," Rachel gushes as she breezes back into the room with two open bottles of beer in her hands, closely followed by Quinn and a tray of the bruschetta that Santana can't wait to dig into. "I have a sixth sense about these things, you know," she boasts, handing over the beers while Quinn sets down the tray on the coffee table. Santana immediately lurches forward, setting her bottle on the edge of the table and snagging a napkin to pile up with three pieces of bruschetta. "Just like I knew Teresa and Santana would hit it off. Well, this time," Rachel amends sheepishly.

"Stop taking the credit," Santana demands with a small frown. "All you did was charm her into slipping you her phone number again. I charmed her into everything else." And _out_ of a few things too.

"Is that what we're calling it?" Quinn challenges with an arched brow before she claims the empty arm chair to Santana's right, patting her lap in a silent invitation for Rachel to join her, which she disgustingly does.

"That's what Santana calls it," Teresa admits with a grin. "But she does have her moments," she admits affectionately, curling a warm palm over Santana's thigh—and yeah, that's damn nice. Santana smiles and offers her a piece of bruschetta.

"Another successful match made by Yente Rachel," Kurt speculates dryly, though his good-natured sarcasm doesn't stop him from reaching over to grab Harry's hand and give it a grateful squeeze.

"I'm certainly not complaining," Harry voices with a smile before he helps himself to the bruschetta, gallantly passing a piece over to Kurt.

"Don't encourage her," Quinn warns, lovingly wrapping her arm around Rachel's waist. "We still have a few single friends."

"Just give me time," Rachel insists, relaxing more deeply into her wife. "I'll make sure every one of them is as blissfully happy as we are," she murmurs, tilting her head to catch Quinn's lips in a (relatively) chaste kiss.

"Oh, come on. You just had a honeymoon. Again," Santana complains. "Stop macking on each other." She'd toss a piece of bruschetta at them but it's too delicious to part with.

Rachel sits up, grinning widely. "Oh, speaking of the honeymoon…"

Santana groans. "Here we go."

"Rach, sweetie," Quinn interrupts. "We agreed to wait until after dinner for the slideshow."

Rachel's smile slips a little. "Oh, yes. I suppose we did."

"Slideshow?" Santana repeats forlornly, imagining the endless hours of photos and commentary that she'll have to endure—and she'd already had to hear all about it in stereo, high-speed rambling when she'd picked them up at the airport.

"I'm looking forward to seeing and hearing all about your trip," Teresa offers, quickly flashing a devious grin at Santana before turning her attention to Rachel and Quinn. "I've always wanted to go to Europe and paint my way through all the major cities," she continues, and Santana knows she isn't just saying that to instigate Rachel—she really wants to, "see the art and architecture up close and in person."

"So have I," Sarah agrees quietly. "Especially the architecture."

"We'll get there soon enough," Josie quietly promises her fiancée, and Santana frowns because it's too soon for _her_ to make a promise like that to Teresa—if she ever even gets the vacation time for it. Way to make her look bad, Red.

"Santana mentioned you're an architect," Teresa says, turning to Sarah with a polite smile.

"She did?" Sarah asks skeptically, clearly surprised that Santana would bother to mention her at all.

Teresa laughs lightly, unfazed by the wariness on Sarah's face. "Architect from Michigan who used to date Quinn," she recites with a grin. "Now engaged to the lawyer from Boston," she continues, gesturing to Josie, "and Quinn's friend from Yale." She points to Harry. "Accountant from Buffalo and former member of the swim team at Fordham who recently reconnected with the fashion designer from Lima and Rachel's best friend since high school," she finishes, pointing to Kurt. "Although, admittedly, your name was a little more recognizable to me," she tells Kurt with mild appreciation in her voice. Kurt really has made a name for himself in the world of fashion.

"Oh, that's adorable," Kurt coos, pressing a hand over his heart. "Santana gave you a factsheet on her friends."

"Why do I get the feeling you're giving us the edited version?" Rachel asks knowingly.

"Because we all know Santana," Quinn points out to everyone's amusement.

"You can all kiss my ass," Santana tells them sweetly—she's not about admit that the rundown she'd given Teresa was far more colorfully worded.

"I think we'll all leave that for Teresa," Kurt cracks, producing a round of laughter.

Santana sure as hell isn't blushing—she's not!—but her eyes do dart over to Teresa to see how she's handling being the butt (and yeah, pun totally intended) of Kurt's joke. There's a trace of pinkness on Teresa's cheeks, but her lips are turned up into a very familiar smirk, so Santana isn't all that surprised when those lips part to reassure everyone, "That's fine with me. She has a really nice ass."

Well, now Santana _is_ blushing, but it's almost worth it to watch Kurt practically choke on his last sip of wine and Harry have to reach over to slap him on the back. Santana leans over and brings her lips close to Teresa's ear, whispering, "Yours is better." Kissing Teresa's ass is one of her favorite things to do, but for once, she's keeping that information to herself.

"I know," Teresa murmurs with a smug grin before turning her head to press a quick kiss to Santana's smiling mouth.

"What were we thinking when we agreed to attend a dinner party with so many lesbians?" Kurt directs to Harry.

"You're the one that opened that particular door," Harry laughingly reminds him, patting his leg in comfort.

"And some of us are bisexual, Kurt," Rachel proudly corrects.

"Here, here," Josie cheers, raising her glass of wine in a silent toast.

"I stand corrected," Kurt defers with a nod. "But there are still far too many lady-loving ladies in the room for my delicate sensibilities."

"And not nearly enough for mine," Santana jokes with a predatory grin, receiving a light slap to her own leg in response.

"Watch it, Lopez," Teresa warns playfully.

"Looks like Santana has finally met her match," Josie muses pleasantly before taking a sip of her wine.

Despite the friendly teasing in her tone, there's a speculative look on her face—it's probably the damn lawyer in her—that tells Santana she's been observing them since they came into the room and is considering the possible truth of her statement. Josie hasn't known Santana nearly as long as Quinn, Rachel, and Kurt have, but she's been around long enough to have witnessed Santana's track record with women firsthand and to genuinely care about seeing her finally settle down with someone who makes her happy.

Santana kind of likes knowing her friends care, but she's not going to get all mushy and shit in front of them. So instead, she lets her lips curve into a suggestive smirk and tells them, "Oh, you have no idea."

"And most of us would prefer to keep it that way," Quinn is quick to respond, offering up a mock grimace even while she's practically feeling up her wife right in front of them.

"Hey, I don't kiss and tell," Santana defends—a statement that's immediately met with incredulous laughter from pretty much everyone, including Teresa, and Santana feels her face heat again.

"Except for all the times when you absolutely do," Quinn corrects.

And okay—maybe Santana has shared a few dirty details of her past sexual exploits from time to time but never when it really mattered. So what if Brittany had been the only one to matter until Teresa? And it's not like they all hadn't already known how flexible Brittany is.

"But not with you, Teresa," Rachel assures her. "She's been completely circumspect." Santana smiles gratefully at the unexpected support from Rachel. At least someone is on her side.

Teresa glances at Santana with a soft smile on her lips, though it's Rachel she asks, "Has she really?"

"Well, mostly circumspect," Rachel revises with a slight shrug. "For Santana."

Santana huffs in annoyance—so much for the support. "Gee, thanks for the help, Berry."

"Fabray," both Rachel and Quinn correct at the same time before giggling like two besotted idiots—which they pretty much are—and getting all soppy with the kisses again.

Teresa leans into her side, giving her leg a comforting squeeze. "It's not like I didn't know what I was getting into when I agreed to date you."

Santana knows that Teresa means that to be reassuring, but it only reminds her of how much she's changed since they first met all those years ago and how much she wants to prove to everyone, including herself, that she can be a fucking amazing, committed, _monogamous_ partner. Unfortunately, Kurt chooses that moment to crack a joke at her expense, telling Teresa, "You're a braver woman than most."

"Fuck off, Hummel," Santana growls.

Kurt's eyebrows inch up at her less than playful tone while Rachel chastises her with a firm, "Language, Santana."

Teresa's hand rubs a soothing circle against her leg in a silent effort to snuff out her spark of temper. It works surprisingly well, and Santana shakes off her momentary irritation, reminding herself that Kurt is only joking—giving back some of what he's gotten from her over the years.

Turning her gaze to Rachel, Santana rolls her eyes. "Please, like you're some innocent little lamb. I know what you two get up to when you're alone," she taunts with a smirk. They're not nearly as quiet as they like to think they are.

"Please feel free to _not_ share that with the class," Kurt pleads with an exaggerated shudder.

Santana shrugs dismissively, leaning forward to snag another bruschetta. "I'm just keeping it real."

To her left, she's aware of Sarah, who's been quietly sitting there and taking in all the good-natured bickering, finally open her mouth to tell Teresa, "You know, it's not too late to reconsider joining this circus."

"Hey, I heard that, Michigan," Santana drawls, surprised the woman actually attempted to make a joke. She still doesn't quite get why both Quinn and Josie went for her—she guesses Sarah is attractive enough if you're strictly looking for a quick roll in the hay (literally, probably, with that whole small town girl vibe she's determined to keep rocking)—but it seems like she's going to be a permanent fixture around here, especially now that she's sporting that modest rock on her finger. "You love this circus so much you joined it twice."

There's some laughter at that—even Rachel seems pretty chill with the reminder that Sarah used to be all up in her wife's business.

"No, she just loves _me_ that much," Josie corrects proudly as she runs a hand down Sarah's arm, linking their hands together and smiling tenderly at her fiancée.

Sarah returns the disgustingly lovesick smile with an affectionate, "I do." Or maybe she's just practicing for their wedding next year.

"Does she always call you Michigan?" Teresa asks curiously, pulling Sarah's attention back to her, and Santana resists the urge to roll her eyes again. She knows that her girlfriend hadn't failed to notice the nickname slip into the rundown of who's who that Santana had given her before they'd ever gotten here, but she hadn't made any comments about it then.

"Every time," Sarah confirms resignedly.

"Hey, we've all had this discussion before," Santana reminds everyone. "The nicknames are a sign of my affection." And she'd actually managed to keep the less flattering ones she used to have for Sarah out of her vocabulary ever since Josie had started dating her.

"Did you just admit to feeling affection for my fiancée?" Josie asks with a smirk, causing Sarah to laugh and shake her head in disbelief.

"No," Santana immediately denies, even though she supposes it did kind of come out sounding that way. She's not going to admit to anyone that Sarah Cartwright might have grown on her a little over the years—kind of like a fungus.

"I actually think you did, Santana," Rachel offers unhelpfully, grinning at her.

"So when are we eating anyway?" Santana asks, changing the subject way the hell away from her alleged affection for these people.

"Asks the woman who's eaten half the bruschetta by herself," Quinn comments dryly.

"Which is fabulous, by the way," Kurt compliments, leaning forward to take another piece. "I'm going to need your recipe."

"No problem," Teresa agrees politely. "I can probably jot it down for you today. It's pretty easy."

"Oh. Us, too, please," Josie requests.

"And me," Quinn adds. "Rachel and I had a piece in the kitchen just to make sure we got some," she says, arching that damned eyebrow of hers in Santana's direction.

Rachel nods her head. "We're so happy you can cook," she tells Teresa gratefully.

Coming from Rachel with her non-existent cooking skills, that's an outright insult. "Hey, I cook," Santana insists, offended. Okay, well—maybe she doesn't bother to do it very often, but when she does, it's "Way better than you, Mrs. Kitchenfire."

Rachel frowns at Santana, huffing audibly, while Quinn shakes her head dismissively. "Can't prove it by us."

"She's actually not bad in the kitchen," Teresa reveals supportively, smiling at Santana.

Grinning, Santana can't resist bragging, "But I'm better in the bedroom," which earns her a mild slap on her thigh from Teresa and exasperated groans from everyone else.

"Something _no one_ needs to hear more about," Rachel says before Kurt can, but that doesn't stop him from adding an "Amen to that," which is kind of ironic since he's still an atheist.

"What we _do_ need to hear more about is Paris," Sarah decides, looking genuinely interested in the potential snooze-fest of lovey-dovey touristy crap. She's probably thinking they're going to talk about the buildings or something—poor girl is living in fantasy world there. Santana doubts Quinn and Rachel even noticed there _were_ buildings unless they had to walk through one to get to a bedroom.

"Yes. Tell us _everything_ ," Teresa prompts, gazing slyly at Santana. She's so getting punished for this later—Santana has some very creative ideas involving handcuffs and a riding crop.

"Well…maybe not _everything,_ " Kurt cautions, obviously guessing how those two probably spent most of their time. And yeah—the lovesick expressions and secretive smiles make an instant appearance the moment they turn to look at one another.

"It was amazing," Quinn gushes with stars in her freaking eyes.

"So amazing," Rachel echoes dreamily.

"Wow. That's so informative," Santana deadpans, shaking her head.

Rachel reluctantly tears her gaze away from her wife, but it only takes a moment for that familiar spark of Berry-flavored fervor to appear on her face. "I could show you the slideshow," she offers eagerly.

Santana sighs, because she knows there's no way around that. "Can we eat first?" she pleads.

Rachel's expression dims slightly, and Quinn shakes her head in exasperation. "Yes, we can eat first," she answers, patting Rachel's thigh in a silent signal to let stand her up. "The lasagna is ready and on warm," she explains while Rachel stands. "Let me just get that out, grab the salad from the fridge, and we'll be ready."

"We borrowed a couple of chairs to squeeze around the table," Rachel informs them all as Quinn heads for the kitchen. "It might be a little tight though."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Josie dismisses with a wave, standing from the sofa and holding out a hand to help Sarah up.

"Yeah, we're all friends here," Harry agrees like he's been around for years instead of just a few months.

Rachel grins at him, clapping her hands together in delight. "We _are_ ," she enthuses. "So have a seat," she instructs, gesturing toward their tiny-ass table made only a little less tiny by the extension pieces, "and I'll get everyone refills."

Harry and Kurt immediately head for the table, grabbing another two pieces of bruschetta as they go, while Rachel joins Quinn in the kitchen. As long as she sticks to handling the drinks and the salad and doesn't touch the lasagna, it should all be good.

Teresa pats Santana's leg, offering her a grin as she stands, but before she can move to follow Kurt and Harry, Josie stops her. "Before everyone gets lost in experiencing Paris vicariously through Quinn and Rachel, maybe we can exchange information so Sarah and I can get a look at your portfolio. We might be in the market to buy a piece if you have more like that one," she says, pointing to the painting of that creep— _moody_ theatre on the wall again.

A pleased smile curves Teresa's lips, and she nods. "Absolutely. I actually have a card with me," she tells them, slipping a hand into the front, chest pocket of her button down to retrieve one of her business cards.

"Of course, you do," Santana muses with a knowing smirk—Teresa always seems to have one or two of those things shoved into a pocket somewhere. "All the ladies get your number except me," she complains good-naturedly.

"You got it when it mattered," Teresa reminds her with a smirk of her own before handing the card over to Josie. "Just leave a message if I don't pick up. I can work pretty odd hours at the bar."

"Thanks. We'll definitely be in touch," Josie promises, studying Teresa's card with a grin before handing it over to Sarah to take a look at. Once she does, she promptly shoves into her own front pocket since she seems to have a thing for button downs just like Teresa does.

"I look forward to it. I actually do have several similar paintings available," Teresa informs them smoothly, slipping effortlessly into her sales pitch. "I've always been really drawn to old buildings, both interiors and exteriors, so they've featured in a lot of my work."

Josie laughs, nudging Sarah playfully. "You and Sarah both."

Sarah's cheeks tint a little pink, and Teresa grins, winking at her. "Well, architecture is just another form of art."

"Exactly," Sarah exclaims with a pleased smile, her eyes sparkling a little at the fact that someone obviously gets it—whatever _it_ is.

"Dios mio," Santana mutters. "Don't tell me you two are gonna be friends."

Sarah shrugs, glancing in Santana's direction. "Well, I already like her more than you," she responds easily.

Josie tries and fails to bite back her laughter, and even Teresa chuckles at the unexpected barb.

"Oh, Michigan grew some thorns. Color me impressed," Santana comments snarkily, planting a hand on her hip.

And damned if the girl doesn't look proud of herself.

"So, _Sarah_ ," Teresa cuts in, sending a mildly reproachful look in Santana's direction, undoubtedly at her stubborn use of that nickname. "Have you worked on anything I'd be familiar with?" she asks, and God help Santana because she actually seems interested in the answer.

"Oh…well…ah," Sarah stutters out, seemingly surprised by the question, "I've been an associate on a few projects, but I really haven't had my name on any designs yet."

"She's being modest," Josie interrupts, wrapping an arm around Sarah's waist with pride. "They're breaking ground on one of her designs next month in Brooklyn."

"It's…just a hotel," Sarah is quick to downplay.

"A luxury hotel near Prospect Park," Josie explains further, obviously not about to let Sarah get away with any unnecessary modesty. And honestly, Sarah might not be Santana's favorite person in the world, but even she can admit that the girl has some talent.

A look of recognition passes over Teresa's face. "The new Belle Hotel?"

Sarah nods. "Yeah."

Teresa's expression instantly transforms from recognition to admiration. "I saw a picture of the proposed design for that in the paper last week. Very nice. I think I noticed a Baroque influence."

Sarah's eyes widen in delight. "You did," she confirms with a smile, obviously pleased with Teresa's recognition of whatever the hell _Baroque_ is. Santana only recognizes it from that joke in _Beauty & the Beast_. "It's one of my favorite periods," Sarah confesses, shrugging almost apologetically, "despite its ties to the Catholic Church."

An eager grin appears on Teresa's face right before she turns and says, "Josie," with a mildly imploring undertone, "do you mind if borrow your fiancée for a few minutes. We have things to talk about."

Josie laughs, shaking her head as she releases Sarah's waist. "Be my guest."

"Seriously?" Santana questions incredulously, watching Teresa place a careful hand on a confused Sarah's shoulder to gently guide her a few steps away.

"We'll just be a minute," Teresa promises, winking at Santana before she turns to Sarah and starts talking to her about the influence of the counterreformation on art and design after the Renaissance—whatever the hell that means.

It's all Greek to Santana, and she turns to Josie with a frown. "You're not gonna do anything about that?"

Josie chuckles. "Why would I? They're just talking art and old buildings."

"Yeah. Boring," Santana grunts, scowling down at her beer bottle. She so wasn't expecting Teresa to hit it off with Sarah Cartwright of all people.

"Not to them," Josie notes, smiling affectionately as she gazes at Sarah.

"Art nerds," Santana mutters, but she can't deny the trace of fondness in her own voice.

"I like her, Santana," Josie says seriously, nodding at Teresa. "I hope we'll get to see more of her."

Unexpected warmth blossoms inside Santana's chest when she thinks about Teresa being around for the long haul—getting fully assimilated into her group of friends—but she covers it with her typical humor. "How much more are we talking? Because I'm not much into sharing anymore."

Josie bites back a tolerant smile, shaking her head. "How do you manage to make everything into an innuendo?"

Santana shrugs. "It's a talent."

"You're still incorrigible," Josie informs her good-naturedly.

The familiar accusation takes Santana right back to that long ago spring afternoon when she'd still been happily playing the field while Josie had been daydreaming about settling down with someone. And now, four years later, Josie is as good as settled with a ball and chain of her very own, and Santana is thinking the whole bondage thing might not be so bad with the right person. Her gaze moves back to Teresa, and she grins when Teresa glances over at her with a warm smile even as she finishes her conversation with Sarah. "I'm freaking adorable," Santana boasts, almost certain that Teresa would agree.

Josie's smile softens as her gaze follows Santana's over to their respective significant others. "Not as adorable as they are," she observes tenderly.

Santana hums her agreement. A few feet away from them, Quinn starts serving up the lasagna while Rachel sets down a few fresh bottles of beer and starts pouring more wine. Kurt and Harry are already sitting at the table, and they pause their own quiet conversation to comment on how good the food looks. It sure as hell smells fantastic.

Santana catches Josie's eye before jerking her head in the direction of their art nerds. "So I'll get mine and you get yours?"

Josie laughs, nodding. "And then we can hear all about the honeymoon."

"Oh, joy," Santana drones unenthusiastically, moving to drag Teresa away from whatever boring thing Sarah is telling her so they can dig into the food and—yes, even hear about the sappy honeymoon. Oh, she'll grumble about it because that's what she does, but there really isn't anywhere else she'd rather be, especially now that she has someone to share it with—someone who'll be coming home with her at the end of the night and hopefully sticking around for many mornings to come.

Sidling up next to Teresa, Santana rests a hand low on her back and soaks in the warmth of her smile before they make their way over to the table together to claim a place of their own, surrounded by the people Santana considers family. The whole thing feels pretty freaking perfect, and there's really no doubt about it in Santana's mind—she finally got lucky.


End file.
